Promicide
by crackers4jenn
Summary: Annie drops a crazy-bomb on the group.


One study group that starts off with Pierce moaning about the current going price of escorts and Troy flipping out because Abed quoted some song lyric that struck too close to a nerve and Shirley pretending not to be noticing the downward spiral of everyone's souls, Annie drops a crazy-bomb on him:

"Vaughn and I are no longer an 'item'," she announces with her mouth set firm and her chin hoisted toward the ceiling, like she's telling everyone _Look, I know I have a tendency to go batshit with emotion, but trust me, I'm totally cool right now._

And, okay, that crazy-bomb might've exploded over the rest of the group, but Jeff, since he's practically the closest to the detonation, feels the sharp, bee-like sting of its shrapnel more personally.

Moments like this are what Shirley lives for. She dives right in with the comfort and reassurance needed to pave the way towards Gossip.

"He was no good for you!" she says. And, "You're better than that," she coos. And, conspiratorially, "I bet he was less-endowed in other areas besides the chest, if you know what I mean."

For the benefit of everyone, Troy explains, "Tiny penis," making Annie blush and Shirley glare.

"Uh, you can leave your debauchery-filled mind out of this, I was talkin' brain-size."

Britta follows Shirley's earlier approach, even though Jeff detects this gleam of suspiciously triumphant looking pleasure lurking in the faux-care of her eyes.

"Annie," she says, lobbing an arm across the table. She grabs ones of Annie's hands and gives it a squeeze-it's so patronizing, c'mon, but it's _Britta_, so Jeff knows that it's just her nature of being unaccustomed with actual human emotions that makes it seem that way. "We're _here_ for you."

Dude, too far.

Annie makes a face-

Jeff is a good translator when it comes to these things, because he happens to be a master face-maker himself, and what hers says is, _Guys, grow a pair. I broke up with that douchebag hippie, my dog didn't die. Who cares? He totally lacked any masculine physical attributes that I find attractive, his hair was stupid and unstyled and it veered way more towards product than actual neglect, and because he never wore shoes, I'm pretty sure he had a chronic case of ring worm._

You're welcome.

-and she pulls her hand away. Britta seems offended for the requisite .02 seconds she lets her guard down, but up come the walls again, flanking her insides like armor. She paints on her own face that says, _Whatever, your problems suck, anyway, and they're not even real. Want to hear real? Try traveling to a third world country. Try living without clean water, or food, or, hell, basic cable. There are people whose lives are being vacuumed away by-_

At that point, Jeff feels, Britta's being a little too preachy in the eyebrow-area.

Annie says, still with the face, "It's not a big deal. Really."

Everyone's ready to accept it and move on. Homework to not do, exams to avoid studying for, lots of other gossip to be had. You know the drill. But then Abed says, because he's there to sift through the subtext, "You wouldn't have told us if it wasn't a big deal."

If Jeff were a man capable of being threatened by the skills of others, he'd envy Abed's bullshit detector. It's fancy.

"ZING," booms Troy, hand cupped around his mouth. He laughs and shakes his whole upper body, whereas normal people just nod. "Man, he so got you!"

"How does _that_ warrant a 'zing'?" Jeff wonders. "You know you can't just _give_ those away, right?"

To the casual ear, those rumbled words are a perfect example of Jeff's inherent need to be heard. (Listen, he's fine with the 'group' thing, but if you think he's going to hang back and be some fly on the wall, clearly you're new here.) Except Abed's eyebrows go high, which means he's riffling through the million pop culture references in his head to see if there's something applicable to this moment.

(Hardened smart-ass comes to the defense of the wilted young woman. UGH.)

So Jeff goes, "Besides, from where I'm sitting, Annie, congratulations. You just became a whole lot sane again."

Her face crumbles a little, some of that steely determination slipping away, but Jeff smirks and so doesn't care.

Abed's still drifting somewhere mentally. "Hm," he goes. Then, like it matters, "Who broke up with who?"

Irrelevant, is Jeff's first subconscious thought. But then, no. Shut up, voice. This could mean something. If Vaughn broke up with Annie (and while on another vision quest? Bro, so not cool), then it's further fuel to feed the Annihilate The Hippie fire. But if Annie broke up with Vaughn...

Annie's chin droops back down to normal. Wordlessly, it speaks volumes.

Pierce tsks and shakes his head. "Spoiled goods," he says on a exhale. "That's how the boys will see you from now on!"

Britta's jaw drops. "Pierce!"

Shirley grabs her giant purse, loaded with god knows what, but it's _heavy_, and swings it at Pierce, which is awesome. She misses when he wildly flails backwards, but ends up glaring at him, silently emasculating him by power of her stare, which is far worse than injury-by-bag.

"Guys!" Annie says. She's using her I'm A Grown-Up voice, too. "It's okay. I was the one who broke it off with him."

Unexpected by half the group, some-okay, Britta-openly gape. Even Shirley seems surprised, who, by the way, one second previous was Team Annie.

Annie struggles as she says, "We weren't working out, and we wanted different things, and you know what? Sometimes clouds are just clouds! They don't always have to be shaped like things!" It's this fast, hurried rush of words, she spends most of saying it looking down at the table, but she finishes things off with a fierce look passed around the table, like she's itching for someone to argue otherwise so she can mace some truth into them.

"Wow, okay," Britta says, after a beat. "Annie's got her some balls. Kudos."

Annie pinkens, then smiles and chirps, "Aww, thanks!" A second later her grin goes flat. "I think?"

"Compliment," assures Britta.

"It doesn't _get_ more complimentary than that," Jeff snarks. He tilts his head to the side, offering up a slow, lazy smile at Britta that's this holy triad of being: 1) condescending as hell, 2) smug as all get-out, and 3) juuuust this side of flirty. "In fact," he drawls, "I'm still waiting for the 'you've got balls' greeting card collection."

Britta scoffs, "_Yeah_, because that's what the greeting card industry needs. Another reason to rip off brainless consumers."

"Your vendetta with the world is so hot."

"Shut up."

"Or? Wait, let me guess. You'll rally together a protest declaring the unjust use of vocal cords."

Britta twists her shoulders up into a shrug, thins her lips. "Keep it up. I might show you how I get unruly guys whose egos are as big as their phallic-shaped sports cars to stop talking. Let's just say I didn't get the nickname 'Cat Scratch' because my cat, Sir Meows-A-Lot, is too doddery for me to trim his claws any more."

Jeff laughs a little. "You have a cat named-"

She whips forward and points a finger at his head.

"Say it, and I'll mark up that pretty face you like so much."

Jeff can only stare back, wide-eyed and, frankly? A little turned on.

Troy breaks the silence that settles around them with a breathed-out-in-reverence, "White people mack on each other in the _weirdest ways_."

"Word," agrees Pierce.

"Uh, yeah," says Troy, who shakes his head, then leaves it cricked to the side. "I wasn't _not_ talking about you."

Pierce tries to wrap his brain around those words. And fails.

Britta says, "Whatever," with a flip of her hair. Curls bounce. It's a nice effect. "That wasn't even macking. That," she smirks, cheeks puffed up and glowing, "is called, _Jeff Winger, Gettin' Schooled_."

Obviously Jeff's reaction is one long, "P_sssssh_yeah."

Britta pulls back. Her face is shocked, but challenging. "What? You think that was macking?"

Before Jeff can dive in and dish out his own schooling, Shirley clears her throat.

"Let's remember," she says, her purse on her lap and clutched close, "that we're in the company of young," her eyebrows dart towards Annie, like arrows, "impressionable," she jerks her whole head this time, "heartbroken minors, so who knows what ideas they might be picking up on, especially with all this sexual tension-" she lets go of the purse with one hand and cuts an upwards swath through the air, "rising up like Moses parting the sea, doin' things to a girl's senses-"

"Shirley!" Annie finally says, appalled. Then, with some disgust, "No one has to _remember_ anything. I'm a big girl," she insists, while everyone else sort of evades eye contact, because no one wants to be on the receiving end of that.

It's not that Jeff disagrees exactly. It's just. Annie's nineteen. In the grand scope of life, she's a sapling.

When no one says anything, like, "Dear god, Annie, fuck you're right! What were we thinking, sheltering you all this time?" she gets that crazy look her in eyes that normally ends with Jeff apologizing or (gross) realizing the soul buried within or (worse) committing to some kind of Greendale function, like, oh, debate?

Annie sits up straight and whines, "Guyssss!" It's the exact opposite of proving her point, which Jeff would, you know, mention, except who wants to unleash that kind of suicidal doom onto themselves, besides nutjobs?

"No, you're right," says Shirley, with a firmness. Yeah, you have to buy into it to believably sell it. It's always tricky. "You're an adult. And we need to recognize that by not mollycoddling your feelings, even if we were only trying to be protective, not overbearing. Meanwhile, we've got our sister telling us it's wrong to raise up two boys that way-"

Abed zips right in with: "Annie's struggling with the merging conflicts of wanting to be treated like a woman while still finding the juvenile elements of her life both satisfying and safe." He shrugs, the secrets of the universe gathered in his head. "Typical. Britney song."

Troy glares at her. "Multiple personalities was supposed to be _my_ thing."

"All I wanted to say," Annie full on freaks out, "and I would've been able to say it if you all didn't like the sound of your own voices so much-"

The group reacts as one, minus Jeff. They flinch. He narrows his eyes and, from his relaxed position of comfortably leaning into his chair, stares her down.

"Yeah," Annie says, wild-eyed, "I said it," she sniffs, holding her head high. "You guys all act like _I'm_ the immature one, well. Take a look in the mirror!"

Using her book, she wields it from person to person, like it's an actual mirror instead of a Spanish textbook with pink and purple flower stickers on it. And, ridiculously, everyone (minus Jeff) reacts like it is a mirror, shying away and avoiding its brought wrath.

"Not cool," Troy complains.

"Yeah, Annie," Britta grumbles.

Satisfied, and charged with some slick combination of indignation and power, Annie says, "A-HEM. I've got an important announcement to make that everyone needs to hear."

Troy wonders with absolutely zero trace of sarcasm, "Secretly you're a robot?"

"What? NO."

Britta accuses, "You _do_ break out into the robot an awfully lot."

Troy gets all stiff and wide-eyed, doling out his variation of a robot. He creaks forward and says, "I am Annie. I am a robot. I hate cool things."

Most of the group laughs, until Pierce copies Troy, except he says, "I am Annie. I have big boobs."

(Insert four seconds of uncomfortable, repulsed silence HERE.)

And then:

"You're a time lord," says Abed, complete with accusatory finger thrusting.

Shirley smiles sweetly. "You've accepted that you're ready to be baptized in order to lead a more fulfilling after life?"

"Guys," Jeff says, cutting off Annie's string of scoffs. "Isn't it obvious? She's _an assassin_."

There's eye-narrowing and _actual_ pondering, until Annie sweeps them back on track.

"Actually, since I'm no longer involved with Vaughn, I just thought I'd mention that. I'm free to be escorted to this years prom! And I need a date, since I'm on the committee. People on the committee _bring_ dates."

Slowly, like 'did you all call beforehand and sync this together?' type slow, a complete set of gazes swivel and land on Jeff. Whose mind barrels through appropriate responses, because clearly the group is looking for him (as their strong, well-equipped leader) to handle things in a responsible fashion, maybe with an age-befitting lecture about the dangers of campus dating, possibly with specific star-shaped warnings (STAR BURNS = WORST) and oh holy crap, seriously, Annie, what the hell?

His head whips in her direction, and she holds his stare with this hard, tough look, until, for just a split second, something softer slips through. And then, before he's worked around the fact that he's fumbling for words, actually fumbling-what is this, fifth grade?-Abed quotes a lyric from that Britney song, which makes Troy's manly will crumble. And because it's opened up something far more disturbing, attention blissfully strays elsewhere.

* * *

After study group, Annie's waiting for him outside the library with this wary but resolute smile, like she's torn between wanting to sink through a crack in the sidewalk, and needing to assert herself as a strong-willed, grown woman who knows more about life than anyone ever gives her credit for.

Jeff's first instinct is to pat her on the head and be like, 'Annie, pal of mine, you great big friend, I'm so glad we're such awesome buddies that nothing will ever be awkward between us, because you and me, we're platonic, kiddo!'

But he just smirks. "Prom?"

Really fast, she says, "That _so_ wasn't an invitation back there!"

B-u-l-l-s-h-i-t.

"I mean," she says, "unless you wanted it to be. If you were thinking about going, and didn't have a date already, NOT that I think you wouldn't, or couldn't!"

Jeff pretends to think it over.

"Yeahhhhhh," he draws it out with a carefully tuned ambivalence. "Isn't it ritual for there to be, I don't know. Some kind of swapped note in situations like this? Where's my option to circle 'yes' or 'no'? That's a sacred rite of passage," he tells her, and by the time he's finished, he's more or less looking down at her, and god help him if the smile on his face resembles her own goofy one.

She gives him a determined-to-be-casual-but-inside-puppies-are-writhing nod, seeing right through his callous outer shell.

"Soooo." Her face screws up. "Dates?"

So help him, this is a Chris Hansen set-up, isn't it?

Sensing his reluctance to attach that word to whatever idiotic thing he is about to agree to, she adds real quick, "As friends!"

Here's the thing: Jeff Winger does not do formal functions involving schools and paper mache decorations. Tried it, it sucked, no thanks.

But he says, "I'll make sure to jot down a reminder when I go home and write about this in my diary."

And she gives him this laugh-this, _oh, Jeff, what am I going to do with you?_ trickle of noise that seals his fate more effectively than blood bonding. Then, with a peppy flick of her wrist and a hesitant, lingering look, she waves goodbye and sets off towards her next class, while Jeff just stands there, waiting for the Earth to split open and swallow him whole.

"Dude," Star Burns slides up a short few seconds later, staring after Annie with some terrible kind of predatory appreciation. "I'd hit that."

And then, ridiculously, Leonard is there. "Think she goes for older," (here, he tugs at the straps on his backpack,) "more experienced cats?"

That would be the locusts, then, signaling an _inevitable world doom._

**A/N: This is not actually finished, but, I don't know. Does it need to be? I could never come close to what the finale actually produced, so. I think this is a-okay to exist as a stand-alone.**


End file.
